Remembered the words of my father
he was killed by cancer, but he died a martyr
swore to ride to war under his banner,
flags of our fathers,
the ways of man are demonic,
he would say, while sipping local gin and tonic
passion comes from the heart, but heart comes from the stomach
it’s better to take than to receive,
don’t be deceived, giving causes jaundice
and it can’t be cured by fool’s gold
the treachery of man, story of Caesar and Brutus foretold
the blueprint of life, has become a Morse code
reminiscing as I navigate like a barracuda thru this Lagos go-slow
pedal to the floor, full throttle, with my mind darker than Donnie Darko
Those words stuck with me, even to my early twenties
when I needed a father figure the most, at the turn of the century
Can never trust the decisions of jokers, they see the bottoms of bottles of Remy
Come and get me,
I write bulletproof poetry that would withstand Semi’s
When I die, lyrics live on till they become a deity
ashes and flowers in my gravesite till it becomes a sentry,
Lord Jah, forgive me for the 7 deadly sins,
I plead amnesty,
Let my soul rest at your vestry

Witnessed core police brutality
in the first degree,
it was this morning,
this unfortunate chap got into a spat,
trying to pickpocket an innocent bystander,
the jungle justice was drastic,
he was stripped bare to the bone,
with a nine of tails cat lashes
till his tissues were showing,
then the bystander victim doused him
with gasoline, kerosene,
some jerk supplied the matches,
produced fire on the first strike,
burnt like the Spanish Inquisition
The cop observed the scene, arms folded
he did nada
but he isn’t Tomas de Torquemada
Damn! this can’t be my country Nigeria neither,
fool this is Sparta!
I need a breather… 

Just finished zoning off a Fish Called Wanda
Cruising in my Honda, with the air conditioner off,
arms outstretched feelin in the breeze,
forget what you think, my way of connecting to these streets
where it’s wicked to walk late
but the Embassy won’t tell tourists
they jack your motor, while you drive, Operation Swordfish
area fathers haunt avenues by night,
in the day torment on sight,
it is your throw of the dice,
but only one outcome,
Escort bullion vans coming through traffic,
All you hear is the report of a loud gun
Once, it was in Oshodi, everyone scattered, ducked,
old women jumping over gutters, market wares,
herd movement,
Slid into a stall, to check if I was hit
I was alright, but I spied this kid
Next to me,
He was bleeding in the chest,
And he didn’t look like he was going to make it
Only 23, and to think he came just to get his girl a bracelet,
Cut down in the twilight of his years
now he’s wasted
Kid, breathe….

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